


the holiest of fires

by apostrophe (introductions)



Series: the cosmos and the soul [5]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Original Mythology, Quests, Resentment, Temporary Character Death, Weird Plot Shit, instead they just get a holy quest and a lot of pain, mark and donghyuck really need to have a nice long conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductions/pseuds/apostrophe
Summary: While they seek out the four elemental objects, a rift grows between Donghyuck and Mark, fueled by jealousy and resentment.The only issue is, Donghyuck is no longer sure what is his and what belongs to the voice inside of his head.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: the cosmos and the soul [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075802
Comments: 20
Kudos: 55
Collections: Markhyuck Week 2021





	the holiest of fires

**Author's Note:**

> OK THIS IS THE BIG ONE it's so big in fact i changed the whole plot sort of and i am cancelling the fic i was SUPPOSED to write tomorrow for day 6 (it was supposed to be fluffy filler) so i can do all sorts of devious things here. 
> 
> please PLEASE mind the tags ! i emphasize the **temporary** character death !! i would tag happy ending because it's coming...just not in this fic. 
> 
> thank you all the support and comments I've gotten so far!! each and every one means the world.  
> enjoy!

“You know,” Donghyuck says, hauling himself over the lip of the rock wall and collapsing bonelessly next to Mark, “when you said _come with,_ I didn’t think you meant _come with and climb the fucking mountain._ ” 

Mark takes a deep breath, chokes, and spits over the side of the mountain. Donghyuck fumbles for their water flask and hands it to him. They’ve been climbing for nearly two days now, trying to reach the so-called heart of the mountain—the place, Mark explained, where they’ll find the first of four elemental symbols, which are apparently paramount to their victory over Seifos and Aureli. 

Mark had explained all of this to Donghyuck first, and then they’d gone to Mark’s mother and Jaehyun, the Empress’s son. They’d agreed to the journey after the Abbott had shown proof of the four symbols, and had sat with Mark for hours, pouring over the details of the vision he’d received. After that, an official mountain-climbing party had been assembled, gear had been provided, and off they’d gone. 

Thinking back on it, Donghyuck should’ve guessed everything was going to go wrong from the beginning.

They were immediately assaulted by a number of wolves, outran an avalanche, and had to jump from the top of a waterfall. After nearly dying of hypothermia, Mark and Donghyuck had found themselves utterly lost and completely separated from the group. The rest of the day had found them desperately praying for warmth, making a fire halfway to the peak, and falling asleep under a tree on the rocky ground. 

And now today they had to deal with this shit—scrambling over boulder fields, up rock walls, their hands dry and bleeding. Mark has a rip in his pants, and Donghyuck’s socks still haven’t dried from their dip in the river. 

“On a good note,” Mark says, still sucking in air, “we’re almost there.” 

“And then who knows what we’ll have to do to get that fucking armor,” Donghyuck mutters, clambering to his feet. He offers Mark a hand, wiping his dirty, bloody palms on his cloak. “We should keep going. If we’re lucky, we can get to the top before nightfall.” 

The snaggletooth peak of Rose Mountain looms above them. They still have the ridge to hike, two miles walking along a knife edge. The sun, fortunately, is on this side of the mountain, and the summer has kept it high in the sky. 

“I don’t like the look of those rainclouds,” Mark says unsurely. 

“Pray to Jiwoo and Bowen, then,” Donghyuck replies, a little sharper than intended. “They seem to like you.” 

Mark gives him an exasperated look. “You’re not still hung up on that, are you?” 

Donghyuck looks down at his hands. Something strange is happening to him, deep inside his bones, changing him. Ever since the voice spoke back, from the very second he put a foot on this mountain, he has started down some path, one where he can’t see the end or turn back towards the start. 

And Mark—Mark has been talking to the gods. Donghyuck can see it on his face, the way his eyes go silver in the dark sometimes, how it hurts to look him in the face. Something has started in both of them. Both of them have been marked by someone—touched by an invisible hand. 

Mark, though, knows who watches him. He knows Kei’s face, the sound of his voice. 

Donghyuck does not. And it’s hard not to resent Mark just a little bit for it. _He’s_ the Solari, isn’t he? Wasn’t communication with the gods the point of giving everything up? 

“It’s fine,” Donghyuck says, closing his hands into fists. “Let’s go.” 

Mark’s silence is a little passive-aggressive, but Donghyuck ignores him in favor of focusing on not falling. The rainclouds pass harmlessly over them, which only makes Donghyuck a little more bitter.

“We’re almost there,” Mark says a couple hours later, when they stop to eat some dried fruit and take a sip of water.

Donghyuck squints up at the peak. “How do you know?” 

He immediately regrets asking when Mark shrugs uncomfortably. Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “How do you know?” he asks again. 

Mark narrows his eyes back and crosses his arms. “Ander,” he says, shifting his feet. “A feeling in my feet. Like they said.” 

Donghyuck stares at him for a long moment, struggling with words. Emotion threatens to swallow him whole, set him aflame, but he clamps his lips shut and breathes out hard through his nose. “Great,” he manages. “That’s good.” 

Mark is looking at him strangely, like he can sense that maybe things _aren’t_ great and good. Donghyuck turns away before he does something stupid, like punch him or kiss him or cry. Maybe all three. 

_Keep your head, young one,_ the voice chuckles. _Perhaps try talking to him?_

_I don’t want to talk,_ Donghyuck thinks viciously, stomping up the ridge, uncaring if Mark follows or not. _It’s not fair._

_No,_ the voice agrees. _But it’s how things work._

Donghyuck thinks a number of violent, blasphemous thoughts, though he keeps them safe inside of his head just in case any gods _are_ listening. They probably aren’t, though—too busy swooning over Mark, which isn’t fair either because it’s _Donghyuck’s_ job to swoon, _not_ theirs. 

They walk a little longer, coming to a wide, flat path carved into the side of the mountain. Granite rises on their right side, and on the left, a sheer drop down to the base. Donghyuck is about to start across when Mark grabs the back of his cloak. 

“Wait a second,” Mark says. “Do you feel that?” 

Donghyuck stops and tilts his head. Sure enough, there’s a strange buzzing in his feet, a rumble that he can’t quite place. “Yes, actually,” he says. 

Mark takes his hand and squeezes, melting some of the tension. “We’re here,” he says quietly. 

With those words, there’s an immense _crack,_ and the granite wall starts to move, splitting in the middle and grinding apart like a massive set of doors. 

Donghyuck takes a tentative step over the threshold, and massive torches flicker to life, illuminating the high, smooth stone ceiling. The floor is covered in a richly-patterned carpet, and leads up to the altar, which is also cut from stone. Behind it towers a carved granite statue of Ander himself, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his expression stern. 

“Whoa,” Mark says, coming up behind Donghyuck. Donghyuck puts a hand on the small of Mark’s back without thinking out it, dizzy from the scale and grandness of everything. 

“Whoa is right,” Donghyuck agrees. “Holy _shit._ How long has this been here?” 

Mark tilts his head. “Since before Nanseo. There were people on this mountain that worshipped Ander—he wasn’t called Ander, obviously—and apparently this space used to fit their entire village during the winter.” 

Donghyuck takes his hand away from Mark’s back, bitter again. “Interesting,” he says blandly. “Did he tell you that?” 

Mark, wisely, doesn’t answer. He just follows Donghyuck forward to the altar, which is covered in empty cups and little stone vases full of dirt. 

“There’s something written here,” Mark says, brushing dust and stoneware out of the way. 

Donghyuck leans over his shoulder. “The earth demands a show of strength,” he says. 

Mark pulls back and looks at him strangely. “You can read that?” 

Donghyuck blinks at the writing, which suddenly shifts into strange symbols. This is an old language, one that is supposed to be long-forgotten by all except the eldest gods. 

He blinks again, and it’s readable once more. _Is this you?_ he thinks at the voice. 

_I grow closer to you every day,_ the voice replies. _Some things are bound to bleed over._

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck says, stepping away from the writing, unnerved. “I just—I don’t know. I just read it.” 

“Well, he needs a show of strength,” Mark says, looking around. “Maybe we can lift something?” He picks up a rock and throws it at the wall as hard as he can. It clatters against the stone and falls to the carpet rather disappointingly. 

There’s a rumble through the earth beneath their feet like laughter. 

“Guess not,” Donghyuck says, laughing as well. Mark cracks a smile and rolls his eyes. 

They brainstorm for another fifteen minutes, trying to open the altar without much avail. 

“What if I punch you really hard,” Donghyuck suggests, mostly joking. He swings at Mark teasingly, who jumps back. 

“Hey—” he starts, but there’s a little shiver in the altar in front of them. 

They exchange a look. “Do that again,” Mark says. 

Donghyuck swings at him again, closer to his full strength. The alter shivers again. “It wants a show,” Donghyuck tells Mark, the pieces clicking together. “So we’ll give it one.” 

Mark raises his hands, and Donghyuck blocks a punch. It’s weak, half-assed, and he narrows his eyes at Mark. “Come on,” he says, half-taunting. “What, afraid you’re gonna hurt me?” 

Mark gives him an exasperated look, and Donghyuck blocks him again. “Better,” he says. “But it’ll have to be stronger than that if we want that chestplate.” He steps towards Mark and kicks him in the chest, sending him staggering backward, winded. The altar cracks, just a little. 

“For example,” Donghyuck says smugly, and that’s finally enough to get Mark to try to hit him—r _eally_ hit him, not because he wants to hurt Donghyuck, but because he has to prove they’re on equal footing. 

They’re not, Donghyuck knows. He’s Solari, for one, and far angrier than Mark is. But he makes sure to give the altar a show, pulling out his most dramatic moves, letting Mark land a blow or two before retaliating. A crack runs down the center of the altar after a little while, and the earth is shaking so much it’s hard to keep his balance. 

Donghyuck dodges a hit, and retaliates faster than he knew he was capable of, grabbing Mark’s arm and throwing him to the carpet, landing so his knee is digging into Mark’s stomach. 

Mark’s eyelashes flutter dizzily, and he lets out a weak wheeze. At the same time, the altar splits, shifting to reveal a shining oilcloth in the center. Donghyuck releases Mark, buzzing with the aftermath of the fight. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Mark says, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. “Was that really necessary?” 

An apology springs to Donghyuck’s lips, his automatic habit to kiss Mark sweetly and smooth down his hair. He’s not sure that’s enough anymore, though, so he just helps Mark to his feet. 

“Here, you can grab it,” Donghyuck offers, gesturing to the cracked altar. “I’m sorry for throwing you.” 

Mark gives him an exasperated look, rubbing the back of his head. “At least it worked,” he says, and reaches to grab the oilskin. 

The chestplate, when revealed, doesn’t appear to be anything special—it’s made of a strange, muted blue stone that makes a hollow noise when Donghyuck taps a fingernail against it. 

“Weird,” Donghyuck says. “Well, that’s gotta be it. Where to next? Back to camp?” 

Mark tugs the oilskin back over the chestplate. “Yes,” he says, his eyes flashing flat silver and then back to brown. “And then to the Kiiza Plains.” He turns to Donghyuck. “The air temple is next.” 

* * *

Their descent is much faster. Mark drops off his chestplate, and Donghyuck sleeps for a handful of fitful hours that night after cramming a few miserable bites of dinner into his mouth. If this had been any other night, he’d have been a good mood—hanging out with his friends and then sneaking to Mark’s tent as soon as the moon rose. But the humming in his chest is far more distant these days, like it’s getting harder and harder to reach him. 

That thought turns his stomach and follows him through his dreams, which are, as usual, filled with violence and death. He wakes up the next morning sweaty and still unsettled. The sky is cloudy, the sun just above the horizon. 

He slides off of his cot, careful not to wake the other Solari, and makes his way down to the small creek at the edge of the camp. He doesn’t stop at the shrines like he normally would, though the smell of rain as he passes Jiwoo makes him tear up. He’s already so tired, and it’s barely started. 

He’s drying his face off when he notices the bronze under his skin. At first, he thinks they’re cuts from the rocks—but those had vanished overnight, not leaving a scar or callus behind. 

This is _underneath_ his skin, though, just visible when he holds his hands up to the light. Shimmering and swirling like clouds across the sky, pooling in the creases of his palms and making his fingertips look metallic. 

He clenches his hands into fists and pulls his sleeves down. He can feel the voice waiting expectantly, but he doesn’t give them the satisfaction by asking the question. 

He goes the morning without talking to them, hiding his hands in his pockets as he and Mark get horses saddled. After the disastrous separation from their escort group on the mountain, the Abbott declared that the gods must want the two of them to go alone. 

Mark is animated and chatty, laughing with the stablehands and hugging his mother goodbye. Even some of Donghyuck’s Solari friends go over to wish him luck while Donghyuck leans against his horse and sulks, feeling furious and sorry for himself. 

Johnny comes to give him a hug, though, which makes him feel a touch better. “Be safe out there,” he says quietly. “Come back in one piece.” 

“I’ll try,” Donghyuck says, and then they’re saddled and on their way. 

Mark, who’s in a good mood, tries to make conversation with him, but Donghyuck sits in stony silence and ignores him. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with all of that right now, too deep in his own head, wrapped in frost and stone. Eventually, Mark falls silent, and Donghyuck pretends not to see the hurt on his face. 

_Do you think he’s still mad that I threw him that hard?_

_I do not know,_ the voice says. _But that strength has not your fault, you know._

He looks down at his hands, remembering how fast he’d moved. _That was you, I’m guessing._

_Indeed._

_You’re not human,_ Donghyuck says, though it’s something he already sort of knows. _You’re a god._

A dry chuckle. _No, young one. Not a god. Not one of yours, at least._

_But then, all this that’s happening to me—you said it’s divinity._ The strange bronze lines along the creases of his palms, spreading up his arms as they speak.

_Divinity of sorts, yes. Not the kind that Mark knows, the kind that’s loaned, the kind that sits on the skin. Kei is powerful, and he did not need to choose Mark to speak to him._

_But you?_

_I,_ the voice says, _am not strong enough on my own. My path has become your path, young one, and in order to be strong enough to walk it, I am giving you all that I once had._

_What if I don’t want it? What if kills me?_

_You_ do _want it,_ the voice reminds him. _You have not said it aloud, but you have thought about it many, many times._

The second question goes unanswered, and Donghyuck realizes he doesn’t particularly care. Maybe it’s best if that one remains just a question. 

_If we’re in this together, then,_ Donghyuck asks, _may I at least know your name?_

_My name?_

_Sure. You must have one. Even the sun goddess does, though we don’t use it._

A pause. _You may call me Runa._

_Runa,_ Donghyuck thinks in the private space of his mind. _That’s a nice name._

_Thank you,_ Runa answers, and all of a sudden, Donghyuck knows she’s a woman, her voice slightly-accented and deep. _It has been a long time since someone has called it. Especially a human._

Donghyuck smiles to himself. But before he can answer her, Mark pulls his horse to a stop so abrupt Donghyuck nearly falls out of his saddle. 

“Ouch,” he says, rubbing his nose. “Are you alright?” he asks Mark, a knee-jerk habit before he remembers they’re supposed to be ignoring each other. 

“I’m fine,” Mark says. “We’re here.” 

He gestures to…nothing. 

“Uh,” Donghyuck says unsurely, “is this a god thing, or is the air temple actually invisible?” 

“It’s not invisible,” Mark tells him. “You just need to focus.” 

Donghyuck blinks, and a building takes shape, still mostly translucent. The only reason he can see its shape is because the edges warp the trees behind it just slightly. 

From what Donghyuck can tell, it’s much smaller than the earth temple. This one is about the size of the temples back home—one room with enough space for a couple people, a few short steps, and a simple altar inside. 

“I still can’t really see it,” Donghyuck admits after a moment of trying. Mark looks smug, and Donghyuck sharply turns away before Mark can see him glaring. “Look for words,” Donghyuck mutters. “That’ll give us a clue, like the earth temple.” 

He sits down glumly on the packed earth, watching Mark march around the outside of the temple. He ducks inside and vanishes, though Donghyuck can hear him lifting things up in there. 

A light breeze ruffles his hair, cooling some of the sweat that’s collected on his temples. 

“Thanks, Rani,” he says quietly. 

“Donghyuck, I found something,” Mark says from inside the temple, reappearing in the doorway. “It’s written under the carpet.” He jogs over to Donghyuck, squatting and tracing out a couple letters in the dirt. 

_Kiizian,_ Runa says, matter-of-fact. _Makes sense. A nomadic people. Their temples were invisible to everyone but them to avoid vandalism, and were all over the continent. So no matter where they were, they always had a place of worship._

“It says peaceful,” Donghyuck says, squinting at the character. “Or possibly…toilet. _Or_ death.” 

“Let’s go with peaceful,” Mark says quickly. “There’s more, hold on.” 

Over the next couple of minutes, Mark ducks in and out of the temple, building the instructions one character at a time. It’s slow-going, but eventually, they get the whole thing. 

“Truth from a peaceful mind splits the air,” Donghyuck reads, “and reveals a symbol only those who speak honestly can lift.” 

“So basically, meditate and tell the truth,” Mark says. “And then the shield can’t be used by liars.” He gives Donghyuck an unreadable look. “I’ll go try it,” he says. “I don’t know if it’ll work if you can’t see it.” 

Donghyuck bites the inside of his cheek, holding back a retort. “Fine,” he says, flopping backward. “I don’t care.” 

Mark hesitates by Donghyuck’s feet, and Donghyuck can feel the tear between them, a snarling rift that is slowly devouring every good thing about their relationship. But he doesn’t say anything and vanishes into the temple without another word. 

_Do you know why I can’t hear them?_ he asks Runa, tucking a hand behind his head. _Why they won’t speak to me?_

_They’re afraid of me, I think,_ Runa says lightly. _I am not something any of them recognize. And the nature of my divinity—_ your _divinity, I suppose—keeps them out._

_Like how?_

_The way gods touch mankind now is entirely different from how it was a thousand years ago. Do you remember how the chaos spinners stole the holy light from the humans during the two days of darkness?_

Donghyuck nods. _Yes. And the sun goddess chased them away when she stole the sky from them and hung the sun in it._

Runa lets out a surprised laugh, an unexpected noise. It jolts warmly through Donghyuck’s mind, and he smiles at the sound of it. _I forgot that is the way humans wrote their history. But yes, essentially. The chaos spinners took the gods’ light from mankind, making it much, much harder for them to talk to you. It’s been reduced to mind-speak, to dreams, to light touches on the backs of your necks. But in the old days, we could appear in front of you in our true forms._ Another laugh from Runa, this one more sardonic. _But as soon as the lie became truth, they lost that ability._

“Lie became truth,” Donghyuck muses aloud, squinting at the cloud-covered sky. “What does that m—” 

“Donghyuck!” Mark calls from the inside, and Donghyuck gets to his feet— _too quickly, too smooth, what is happening to me, what is_ happening _to me,_ he thinks, fighting back nausea—and jogs to the entrance of the temple. 

“What is it?” he asks, putting his foot on the step. As soon as he does, Mark appears, crouched on the floor in front of the temple. The wind altar, squat and square, has opened to reveal another oilskin. “Oh, you got it!” 

Mark scoots aside. “Would you like to do the honors?” 

Donghyuck looks at the covered shield, round and slightly curved. A sliver of silver metal peeks out from the side. _Only the honest ones may lift it,_ Donghyuck thinks, and somehow knows that is no longer him. The Solari, warrior monks, champions of truth, mouthpieces of the gods—but there’s a lie in there somewhere. A lie in the sun, a lie in his blood, a lie at the corner of his mouth every time he looks at Mark. 

“You know what,” Donghyuck says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, “why don’t you lift it. You got the chestplate too, so it makes sense.” 

Mark gives him another unreadable look, and lifts the oilskin from the hollow. 

“Wait, there’s something else in there,” Donghyuck says, peering in. Several leather-bound journals sit stacked at the bottom. “They look like books.” He reaches in, handling them carefully. The leather crackles in his hands, the pages flaky-thin as he opens the cover of the top one. 

_The sun and the sky,_ someone has written at the top. Underneath, in smaller letters, _provided by Medha Suchwani, transcribed from the last living Qinghua monk._

_Oh,_ Runa says quietly. _Of course._

“What is this?” Donghyuck asks her sharply, turning the pages. Most of it is too faded to read, but he catches a word here and there. _Sky. Sun. Cosmos._

_Betrayal._

“What’s what?” Mark asks, leaning over his shoulder and squinting. 

“I was talking to Runa,” Donghyuck tells him. 

Mark raises his eyebrows. “She has a name now?” he asks, slightly uneasy. 

Donghyuck nods, heart racing. “Yes. And these—are these what I think they are?” 

_The truth,_ Runa says distantly. _The only copy of it._

Donghyuck closes the journal and holds it close to his chest. “I need to get these to Johnny right away.” 

“Johnny?” Mark asks, bewildered.

“He likes history,” Donghyuck jabbers, striding down the front steps of the temple. “He’ll be able to help me make sense of these. Because if it’s the truth, it’ll change—it’ll change _everything._ ” He looks down at the journals again, afraid to even _think_ about the contents. He glances up at where the sun hides behind the clouds, and stuffs the journals in his bag. “Do you have the shield?” 

“Yep,” Mark says, hefting it. “It’s surprisingly light.” 

“It’s an elemental symbol,” Donghyuck says. “It’s older than the names of our gods.” 

Mark nods thoughtfully. “I can’t believe we got another one. I mean, the Abbott said they existed, but—” 

“It doesn’t feel like _we_ should be the ones doing this?” Donghyuck offers. Mark looks over at him, and Donghyuck is surprised by the sadness weighing on him. 

“Yeah,” Mark says. “Exactly.” 

Donghyuck reaches out for him, unable to help it, the piece of him that hasn’t yet been swallowed by the change and the jealousy crying out softly for Mark’s touch. 

Mark leans his cheek into the curve of Donghyuck’s palm and sighs. “I’m tired,” he says. “I want this to be done.” 

“I know,” Donghyuck says. Something is softening, shifting, moving away from the relentless scorch of power, slipping into a familiar shape. He moves his hand from Mark’s cheek and slings his arm around Mark’s shoulder, pulling him close. The shield, wedged between them, glows softly.

For a long moment, the silence is comfortable, Mark’s face pressed against his shoulder. 

And then Donghyuck ruins it when he asks, “what was your truth?” 

Mark stiffens and pulls away. “Nothing.”

“Why? Was it embarrassing?” Donghyuck teases, but Mark won’t meet his eyes. He gathers their stuff, nodding back at their horses. 

“We better be getting back,” he says, ignoring Donghyuck entirely. Donghyuck’s good mood flees in an instant, gone as quickly as it came. 

“Fine, don’t tell me, I don’t care,” Donghyuck snaps, shoving past Mark. “It’s getting dark.” 

They don’t talk for the entire ride home. It hurts so badly that Donghyuck can barely breathe, and there are several times where he opens his mouth to say something and closes it again. 

Mark doesn’t bother to breach the silence, either.

The rift widens. It hurts. And still, neither of them speak. 

* * *

As soon as they get back to the encampment, before Donghyuck’s feet are really on the ground, he’s demanding to see Johnny. 

Soldiers snap to attention right away at the urgency in his voice, and one of them sprints towards the Solari encampment. There’s a buzzing, excited crowd that swarms Mark, clamoring to see the shield and hear the tale of how he got it. He’d tried on the chestplate when they’d returned from the earth temple, and it had fit perfectly. And now he’s some sort of celebrity, a war hero for a nation that is _still_ not ready to go to war. 

Everyone gives Donghyuck a wide berth, probably because of the expression he’s wearing. Johnny, fortunately, doesn’t look afraid, just concerned, hurrying towards Donghyuck. The sight of him, as always, eases some of the fire that is beginning to lick at his bones.

“They said it was urgent,” Johnny tells him, after giving him a huge hug. “I think they’re also a little afraid of you. I’ve never seen a man run so fast in my life.” 

“They can be afraid, whatever,” Donghyuck says carelessly, waving him off. He turns to his saddlebags and pulls out the journals carefully. “I found these in the air temples. I think—I think they’re about the sun goddess.” 

Johnny frowns, taking the journals. “I thought the Solari had all the holy texts about her.” He flips through one, and his eyes go wide. “Holy shit, they’re in Kiizian.” He looks up at Donghyuck. “These are _old,_ Donghyuck. Older than any of the ones we have.” 

Donghyuck bites his lip and takes a step closer to Johnny. “I think it’s the truth.” 

Johnny connects the dots. “You think the sun—I mean, you think _she_ lied?” 

Donghyuck nods. “But I’m not sure. You’ll probably be able to make better sense of it than I can.” 

Johnny presses a gentle hand to the cover of one of the journals. “I’ll get right on it.” He turns to go, but Donghyuck catches his elbow. 

“Don’t tell anyone, maybe,” he says unsurely. It’s night, now, but he’s still not sure how closely the sun goddess is listening. “Especially not the Solari.” 

“You have my word,” Johnny promises, expression unusually solemn. “I’ll find you when I’m done.” 

Donghyuck lets him go. The crowd—along with Mark—is still there, buzzing with too much excitement, making his stomach clench. He slips away before anyone can ask him if he’s okay, if he wants dinner, or if he’s tired. Because he’s not. 

Instead, he finds a quiet place by the river to practice his swordplay, moving through positions with ease that is not his but is becoming familiar. He’s just stopped to take a break when there’s a tug, like he’s being pulled by a rope. And then the world flips upside down in a flash of bright light. 

Donghyuck throws up his hand to block the worst of it, ears ringing. When he lowers it, blinking rapidly, he’s not entirely surprised to find the sun goddess standing in front of him. 

She is stunning, both in beauty and in brilliance. Donghyuck thinks that without Runa’s protection—or whatever power is emerging in him can be called—he’d be incinerated. 

Unlike Jiwoo, or really any of the other gods, there is not a trace of benevolence on the sun goddess’ face. When he continues to stand before her, unfaltering, her eyes narrow. They’re brown and blazing, two twin drops of solar gold sitting in the corners. The slant of her cheekbones and eyebrows is anything but gentle, and her mouth is turned down, displeased. 

“Why don’t you bow?” she asks. 

“Because I think you’re a liar,” Donghyuck says, raising his chin. The dangerous brightness in her eyes increases. The armor she’s wearing—also gold, which Donghyuck thinks is a little ridiculous—gleams as she shifts. She’s taller than him, stronger than him—and also the goddess of the _fucking sun._ There is no way she would stand for his ignorance if he was a regular human. 

But he’s not. Not anymore. Not with Runa, whose name is ancient and unfamiliar, yet rings with a note of truth, a bell in a clear blue sky. 

“Be careful,” the sun goddess warns. “If you continue down this path, you will pay dearly. I will be sure of it.” 

Before Donghyuck can open his mouth and sink himself in deeper shit, she vanishes in a flash of sunlight. The night comes back, and he staggers to sit. The sound of the river calms his frayed nerves, the water sweet on his dry tongue. 

_Very showy, that one,_ Runa remarks dryly. _She always has been._

Donghyuck blinks away the sunspots. _You knew her?_ he asks. On his forearms, under his skin, the bronze lines move like clouds across the sky. 

_Of course,_ she says. _And I loved her. We all did._

Donghyuck sends a question mark her way, but she doesn’t answer, and Donghyuck can feel her step back in his mind, settling in for the night. The moon is only a sliver, and a summery breeze sweeps through his hair. A distance away, Mark sleeps in his tent, probably communing with the gods. Donghyuck thinks about how only he’d been able to wear the chestplate and lift the shield, and is upset but not entirely surprised. Of course Donghyuck can’t respect his own strength when he no longer _knows_ it, when his body becomes more of a mystery to him every day. The shifting bronze lines under his skin, the way any bruises or cuts stitch themselves up. A new steadiness to his hands and feet that doesn’t feel warranted, a strength that feels alien to him. Even now, after days of travel and tribulations, he isn’t very tired. Mark had been falling asleep on his feet, running on half a meal and two hours of sleep, but Donghyuck feels…fine, really.

And that is what terrifies him most of all. When he’d asked for a path, for a destiny, he’d wanted a _familiar_ one. Lead an army, utter a prophecy, go on a fun, one-day adventure. He had not asked for war. He had not asked for a quest that would change him irrevocably. He did not ask to be pushed away from the boy he loved, for so many ancient, burning feelings he had no human words for. 

And yet, here he is. Smoldering away, not talking to Mark, and wondering what the hell he ever did to deserve this. 

_You fought,_ Runa says quietly. Gods are not apologetic—how can they be, when they believe they’re perfect—but her voice is softer than usual. _You fought so passionately. And you believe so wholly in that boy of yours. How could I_ not _choose you?_

Donghyuck doesn’t want to feel comforted by her words, but he is, some of the bitterness smoothed down. The ashy taste in his mouth fades. 

“Two more symbols,” Donghyuck says to himself. “And this will all be over.” 

_No, young one,_ Runa says, still soft. _This is only the beginning._

* * *

The morning they’re set to leave for the Yanggo River, Johnny wakes Donghyuck with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I found what you were looking for,” Johnny says quietly, holding up one of the many leather-bound books they’d rescued from the air temple. 

Donghyuck sits up, taking the book from Johnny. The pages are so thin they’re transparent, the lettering faded from time. 

“My Kiizian isn’t very good,” Johnny says, “so I had to get Taeyong to help.” 

Donghyuck gives him an alarmed look, but Johnny puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. “He swore secrecy,” Johnny says. “He’s worried about you, though. We all are. Especially after reading this.” Johnny taps the page, and Donghyuck looks down at it. 

As with all the ancient languages, Donghyuck finds himself able to read it easily. 

And so the lie finally unravels. 

The first half is too faded to read, so Donghyuck picks up mid-sentence: _but her little sister Asta, the sun goddess, was jealous of her sister and her sky domain, and how mankind turned to her during battle. She wanted that power for herself, wanted to be the only thing mankind would look up and see. She did not want to share._

“The sun goddess had a sister?” Donghyuck asks, stunned. “There was another goddess? The sky didn’t belong to the chaos spinners?”

Johnny nods gravely. “Keep reading.”

_The first time they fought, Runa defeated her soundly and sent her back in shame. But Asta’s resentment and jealousy grew until it overwhelmed the last of her love for her sister. So she went to the edges of the sky where her sister couldn’t see her and asked the chaos spinners for help._

Donghyuck blinks at the words. The chaos spinners. A betrayal. A thirst for vengeance that isn’t quite his, the urge to fight amplified by someone else’s millennium-old desire. 

He keeps going. 

_She promised the chaos spinners two full days on earth if they would help her take the sky. So Asta and her army of demons marched on her sister, who fought valiantly. Many think she could’ve won, but the price—her sister’s death—was too high for her to pay._

_And so Runa, the war goddess, the sky goddess, fell from her domain. And the chaos spinners sucked the last of the divinity from mankind, who plead for Runa’s help nonstop for those two days. When help didn’t come, they struck her from all of their histories—except one single oral tale, which I have transcribed here. Asta took the sky for herself and her lover, the moon, only for Runa to gather up the last shreds of her strength and split the sky between them, separating them for the rest of eternity._

More faded bits, and then a postscript at the end. _This is the truth as I know it. This is the truth as it has been told. I hope one day Asta’s betrayal and the greed in her heart will be spoken about again. I fear for my people. They hold her in such high regard, and it inflates her ego. But she can only shine upon them and ignore their prayers, for she can not—and even if she could, she would not—help them in the way they need. So perhaps when war comes again, and it shall—someone will find the fallen sky and restore her._

“Asta,” Donghyuck breathes, and his vision flashes white-hot, burning his retinas, a warning. _What,_ he thinks up at her through the pain. _You don’t like that name, do you? Does it strike too close to home? Does it remind you of what you did—of your own sister, who you_ killed _?_

Another flash of heat comes for him, but it scatters like sunrays as Runa rises up to shield him. Runa, whose power stretches across his mind, as vast and unshatterable as the sky itself. Runa, who had been pushed from her domain thousands of years ago, whose name is truth erased. 

_No,_ Runa thunders, so loud Donghyuck clutches his head. _You will not hurt him._

“Donghyuck?” Johnny asks, putting a hand on his back. “Are you okay?” 

“She’s not happy,” Donghyuck says through gritted teeth, “that we know the truth.” 

“Your nose is bleeding,” Johnny points out, and Donghyuck wipes his face. The blood comes away glittering with bronze. In his head, Runa deflects another bolt of fire, and shoves back at the sun goddess—Asta—whose presence hovers in the corner of his mind. 

The pain abates. Donghyuck looks up, blinking away the sunspots. 

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks again. “That looked intense. Also, um, did you know there’s a bit of your eye that’s blue?” 

“I am not surprised at all,” Donghyuck says, flopping backward on his bed. “The fallen sky goddess is in my head and she’s taking over my body, I think.” 

The silence that follows this declaration is overwhelming. “Um, what?” Johnny asks. “Run that past me one more time, will you?” 

“Runa, the sky goddess, the war goddess,” Donghyuck says, waving his hand in the air, “is in my head, and her divinity is bleeding into me.” 

“Runa, as in the one we just read about? The one knocked from the sky by her sister?” 

Donghyuck nods, closing his eyes. “Yep.” 

Johnny lets out a long breath. “Fuck.” 

“Yep.” 

They sit there for a long moment. “What…are you gonna do?” 

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck admits, honest for the first time in a while. “I’m running out of energy to care. She’s just—she’s so _passionate_ about this, about the war, about vengeance. And carrying her emotions is exhausting mine.” 

“Aw, Hyuck,” Johnny says, patting him gently on the chest. 

“Can we just lie here?” Donghyuck asks tiredly. 

“What about Mark?” 

“I don’t want to talk to Mark,” Donghyuck says, and they leave it at that. 

And Johnny sits next to him and tells him stories until he falls asleep. 

* * *

The river temple, thankfully, is more straightforward than the previous two. He’s not sure he could’ve focused on something puzzling or physically-draining, not when he’s busy deconstructing and examining _everything_ he thought he knew about the sun goddess and how she came into possession of the sky. He aches to talk to Mark about it, but the silence between them is so thick, so stony that Donghyuck doesn’t know if he’s capable of breaking it anymore. He can’t touch him without burning himself on the frost that separates them, so he puts all his effort into finding the last two symbols. 

The river temple is half-submerged, and they have to swim through a couple areas in order to reach the altar. Donghyuck translates the Old Emarian, which asks for a choice in exchange for a bow that will always shoot straight and true as long as the wielder’s mind is made up. 

Mark presses his hand to the blue stone in the middle. What he chooses, Donghyuck isn’t sure, but he yelps and pulls his hand away as his shirt soaks through with blood. 

“What?” Donghyuck yelps as Mark staggers back, a hand pressed to his side. “What? What the hell is happening?” 

“I chose,” Mark says between gritted teeth. “It’s fine. Grab the bow.” 

Donghyuck reaches for it, but his hand glances off of it, like there’s a glass dome blocking it. 

“I can’t,” he says desperately. “Mark—” 

Mark grabs the bow, his jaw clenched. It’s a hard swim back—Donghyuck has to carry Mark most of the way, fighting back tears and panic and frustration as Mark’s blood turns the water red. On land, it’s a scramble to dry his skin and bandage the wound, which is a long slash along his torso. 

“What was the choice?” Donghyuck asks, tearing linen with his teeth and wrapping it around Mark’s stomach. He’s gone white in the face, and his grip on Donghyuck’s shoulder is so tight it hurts. 

“Me or you,” Mark says faintly. His eyelashes flutter. 

Donghyuck pauses. “Really?” 

Mark nods. “Really.” 

“I thought you were mad at me,” Donghyuck whispers, binding off the linen strip around Mark’s torso. 

“I am,” Mark says quietly. “I don’t know what’s happening to you. Or why you’re pushing me away. But I still love you.” 

Donghyuck tucks his chin against his chest as he focuses on finishing binding Mark’s wound. He can’t find a reply, just like he couldn’t when he climbed down the trellis of star jasmine for the last time. 

Mark seems to get it, though. He sits up, and after a little food and water, the color starts to come back to his face. Neither of them try to continue the conversation, but Donghyuck lets Mark lean on him a little, and Mark lets him stroke some of the wet hair out of his face. They have fallen out of passionate habits, but they have not forgotten how to touch one other, tenderly. It’s a shade of what they once were, swallowed by the crushing weight of the sky and drowned by the milky light of the moon. 

But they remember. They remember just enough. 

* * *

They have no time between the water and sun temples to return to camp. Mark tells Donghyuck that their opposition most likely has solidified a plan by now—that a week and a few days is _plenty_ of time to figure out how to defeat an unprepared nation such as theirs. Donghyuck can’t even be all the way mad at Mark when the gods tell him where to go. He remembers Runa’s words—how the gods may not be able to reach him anymore—and manages to keep his calm. Even when Mark glows with the light of the moon or whispers under his breath to gods Donghyuck cannot see. Meanwhile, Runa whispers to him, reminding him to bide his time, that this will all come together in the end. 

_This is your destiny, remember? Isn’t this what you wanted?_

_I don’t know,_ Donghyuck replies. _I can’t help but feel like what I wanted is what Mark has._

_Young one,_ Runa chides. _And this is the jealousy that eats away at your heart?_

Donghyuck doesn’t answer her, urging his horse to keep up with Mark. They’ve been following the river through the night, stopping to sleep for a while. Eventually, though, the river bends westward, where it will join with Seifos’s Agafya River and then run into the sea. They continue to head south, away from the cool rain and pleasant breeze. Here, summer is in full force, burning their necks and faces. Sweat trickles down between Donghyuck’s shoulder blades as the hills give way to plateaus of striped rock, the road they follow dumping them into canyon so tall their very breath echoes. The sun blazes a path across the sky cruelly, almost vengefully, like it knows the truth Donghyuck holds and is trying to burn it out of him. 

The day wears on. They run out of water as they ascend the canyon, but stumble upon a tiny pool of clear water. The ground beneath their feet isn’t quite sand, but is so hot it feels like it’s melting the soles of Donghyuck’s boots. 

“That canyon used to be a river,” Mark tells Donghyuck. “And this all used to be grasslands. The Izomoi people lived here until the Simu Desert was created, and the heat killed all the plants and dried the river up.” 

Donghyuck squints up at the sun. He feels another spike of pain in the back of his head, and the stretch as Runa counters Asta’s attack. He wonders if now is the time for the truth, all of it. 

_Find the last symbol,_ Runa recommends, _and then tell him. Your boy has a lot on his mind._

_I’m not sure he’s mine,_ Donghyuck says, watching Mark splash water on the back of his neck and sigh. _He wasn’t then, and he isn’t now._

Runa makes a displeased sound but doesn’t comment as they swing back into their saddles. It’s not long before they’re forced to dismount again and leave the horses in the shade of the shrinking canyon walls by a stream, because the ground gets too hot for their hooves. 

“We’re almost there,” Mark says. His eyes do the silvery thing again. 

Going on foot is a lot slower, and time seems to slip past them extra slowly. The sun beats down on every inch of exposed skin, brutal and relentless. It’s only after an hour or two of walking that Mark stops and goes, “Wait.” 

Donghyuck stops, his overworked muscles groaning. His lips are cracked and his mouth is dry, and he hates every moment that he has to spend out here, being battered by hot wind and baked alive by a furious sun goddess. 

“Something…strange is happening,” Mark says, frowning. “I can’t hear them as well out here.” 

_She killed them,_ Runa says, her voice distant. _When I split the sky into night and day, and she scorched the land dry._

_Killed who?_

_The Izomoi had many gods,_ Runa says. _Many more than you do. Their lands were rich with blessings, their water filled with divinity. But she burned it all away. And now it’s hard for anything to survive out here—god or mortal._ A pause. _I do not know what awaits you in that temple, but there will be no gods to help you._

_Not even you?_

_No, young one. You will be alone._

* * *

Unlike the other three, the fire temple is impossible to miss. Breaking the flat blue horizon is a massive pyramid without a point, like the upper quarter had been sliced horizontally off. 

“Well, at least it’s not invisible,” Donghyuck says. 

“There’s no god of fire, is there?” Mark asks as they trudge closer.

“No,” Donghyuck says. “Didn't the Izomoi live here, though? So maybe they did?” 

“I think this is older than that,” Mark says, shaking his head.  “And Izomoi was a small kingdom, too.” 

Donghyuck frowns, wiping sweat from his eyes. “So this isn’t a temple for a living god. Or even a recent one.” Not like the air temple had been for Rani, the river temple for Ema, and the earth temple for Ander. All soul gods that Nanseo had picked up from fallen kingdoms. 

The language above the archway is so faded by wind and time that Donghyuck can’t read it. He hopes it says something lovely and welcoming, and not _if you walk in here you die._

He holds his breath anyway as they step through. 

The first thing he notices is the heat. It’s fifteen times worse in here than it is outside, so hot that it sucks the air from his lungs. 

The second thing he notices is the mirror. It’s massive, taking up most of the space in the middle of the temple. The sliced-off top suddenly makes sense—it’s to let the sun in. It’s not quite over the top yet, though it will be soon. 

“What the hell,” Mark says, looking at the giant ornate mirror and the small square of blue sky visible above their heads. “What _is_ this?” 

“What they say about the sword of flame?” Donghyuck asks urgently, starting around the diameter of the mirror. “That we have to grab it from the sun?” 

“From the gut of the sun,” Mark corrects, following behind. “Which doesn’t mean the sun goddess, I don’t think.” 

“There hasn’t been a god in here in a very long time,” Donghyuck agrees, lowering his voice. “This isn’t a temple anymore. It’s a tomb.” 

Mark’s expression is disconcerted. “What are you looking for?” 

“There’s always a clue, isn’t there?” Donghyuck says. There’s some squashy red moss growing around the edge that he carefully avoids as he bends close to the ornate edge of the mirror. The words are covered in a fine layer of dust that he has to scrub away with his sleeve. 

Mark does a slow, stationary circle. “I wonder who built this. And _how_ they built it. And got a mirror this big.” 

“Probably didn’t walk into a corner shop and ask for it,” Donghyuck jokes idly, squinting at the strange symbols engraved along the edge of the mirror. “Holy shit, this is old. I can barely read it.” He leans closer, enough that he can see the heat rising unevenly off the surface of the mirror. He blinks, and while the symbols are slow to rearrange—probably because of Runa’s distance—eventually they’re readable. 

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Donghyuck says. “It says, um, ‘unfettered passion reveals the sword.’” 

Mark frowns. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it,” Donghyuck says, standing. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not leaving anything out.” 

“Well, I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean,” Mark says, crossing his arms. 

“Then ask the gods,” Donghyuck snaps. The sun, rapidly moving into position, is starting to hurt his eyes, the reflection from the mirror scalding. The air is so hot he can barely breathe, and it’s making him fidgety and upset. 

“They’re not answering,” Mark says sharply. And Donghyuck, already so close to the edge, sets off. He spins on Mark, anger scorching his throat. 

“Then _make_ them answer! Aren’t you supposed to be _chosen?_ Aren’t you supposed to be _special?_ ” 

Mark scowls. “Why do you _care_ if the gods chose me? _You’ve_ got a goddess in your head! Isn’t that enough?” 

_Is it?_ Runa asks. Or maybe it’s himself. It’s hard to tell the difference between voices these days. 

Donghyuck clenches his jaw. “I’m Solari,” he says. “This is—this is my _duty._ ” 

“So now it’s your duty,” Mark says. “All of that from before was a lie, then? About wanting to stay, about loving me? About not giving a damn about divine paths or holy quests?” 

Donghyuck feels tears burn his eyes, only to be blistered away by the sun. “I meant all of that,” he says. The direction of his anger shifts, giving way to the deep root of hurt, the resentment he’s fostered over the last couple weeks. 

Mark touches Donghyuck’s cheek. He doesn’t know how they’d gotten to stand so close, doesn’t remember when the air started burning with a different kind of heat. “So what changed?” 

“Me,” Donghyuck says, lifting his hands. In the brilliant light, the swirling bronze lines are visible, glittering underneath his skin. “You. Everything. I was set on this path before I got to decide if I wanted it or not.” His voice cracks on the last line, and he steps away, hating the raw vulnerability in Mark’s eyes. “I gave up _everything_ for—for _them._ And I get this.” 

“So the solution is to push me away,” Mark says scathingly. 

Donghyuck looks away, grinding his teeth. “Sometimes I really want to punch you.” 

Mark lets out a sound that’s half a sigh, half a laugh. “You already did that.” 

“I mean I want to punch you again.” 

“Is that you or Runa talking?” Mark asks.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer. He’s not sure whose fury is whose. Maybe there’s no distinction anymore. Maybe both of them are hurting and vengeful, and the difference between him and the sky goddess is minuscule. 

“Donghyuck, look at me.” 

Donghyuck scowls at the mirror, at the chip of blue sky visible through the open top of the pyramid. His temples throb. Every breath burns, and it feels like his blood is setting on fire. “No.” 

“ _Look_ at me,” Mark says, grabbing Donghyuck’s chin between with a thumb and forefinger and turning it a little harder than necessary. Donghyuck scowls but doesn’t move away, and Mark stares at him, searching for something. The tension simmers between them, pulling taught. The heat isn’t helping—it gets into his lungs, his bloodstream, making his head woozy and his vision swim. His gaze falls on Mark’s lips, and Mark meets his eyes, dark and unreadable. 

“I want—” Mark says, but stops short. 

“What?” Donghyuck asks, trying for flippant but ending up closer to breathy. They haven’t been this close since—since before the vision. Before the truth, the bitterness, the crawling thought that maybe love won’t be enough. 

“I want to kiss you,” Mark says, his brow furrowed. “But I don’t know if that’s _me,_ or the fire.” 

Donghyuck looks at the words along the mirror's gilded frame: _unfettered passion reveals the sword._

“Then kiss me,” Donghyuck says, tilting his chin up. 

Mark’s hand tightens on his face. “No.” 

“Then I’ll kiss you,” Donghyuck declares, and surges forward. 

Mark catches him around the waist and kisses him back, returning the touch with the same amount of fury. Donghyuck pulls at the hem of Mark’s shirt, blood humming with want. It’s been so long since he’d touched him like this—one hand on the tense plane of Mark’s stomach, pressing his thumb to the divot above his hipbone. Donghyuck has always liked the way Mark’s body fits under his hands, and he marvels at it now, sliding a hand up over the curve of Mark’s ribcage, his shirt bunching up over his chest. The scrape he’d gotten at the river temple is nearly healed— _god-touched,_ Donghyuck thinks—the new skin paler than the rest of his torso. Donghyuck presses his fingers to it and licks into Mark’s mouth, swallowing the breathless noise he makes. 

“It must’ve hurt,” Donghyuck says against Mark’s lips, touching the scar again. “I never thanked you for that.” 

“You haven’t been yourself,” Mark replies. There’s still so much vulnerability on his face, and Donghyuck hates it. 

“Mm,” he says, leaning back in and letting the fire consume them both. 

At first, it feels like they might fight, Mark’s hand on Donghyuck’s face, his throat, a knee between Donghyuck’s legs. They hit the ground hard, the strange red moss saving Donghyuck from a concussion. He barely gets a breath in before Mark is on top of him, his thumb at the corner of Donghyuck’s mouth, his tongue coaxing Donghyuck’s lips apart. Donghyuck lifts his leg and nudges Mark closer, slings an arm around his neck, and pins him in place. 

The air between their chests sparks, threatening to burn them both, but Donghyuck hasn’t felt this alive since that night in the old training grounds, another lifetime ago. 

Mark’s shirt has come all the way untucked, and it hangs away from his chest. His hair is mussed, his lips kiss-bruised, and Donghyuck feels a little jolt of delight at how utterly wrecked he looks already. 

“You’re out of breath,” Mark notices, sliding a hand over Donghyuck’s chest, lingering at the laces on the front of his shirt. 

“And you’re out of practice,” Donghyuck quips back. Mark’s grin is crooked, boyish—the most _Mark_ smile Donghyuck’s gotten out of him all week. He sits up, chasing the glint of Mark’s teeth, nipping at his bottom lip, sliding his hands under Mark’s shirt. “Off,” he gasps, tugging at it, and Mark gives him another grin before pulling his shirt off. Donghyuck watches the pull of the muscles in his torso and loses his breath, head spinning. He doesn’t know when they flip positions, attributes it to the divine speed, but doesn’t care, because being on top lets him kiss down the column of Mark’s throat, lingering below his collarbone. 

“You’ll leave a bruise,” Mark warns, voice strangled. His hands slide up Donghyuck’s thighs, his knuckles white. 

“Good,” Donghyuck says viciously. “I’ve seen how some people at the camp look at you.” 

“Jealousy is not a good look on you,” Mark says. “You know you can—” 

“Shh,” Donghyuck says, pressing a hand over his mouth. “Shh. You talk so much, Mark Lee.” 

Mark watches him, his eyes hooded, as Donghyuck draws his shirt over his head. Mark's hands on his thighs are so hot he can feel it through the fabric of his pants. 

“Holy shit, Donghyuck,” Mark says, awed. “What’s—what’s happened to you?” 

Donghyuck looks down at his arms and chest, at the liquid bronze and gold that swims underneath his skin. Sacrilegious, a boy with divinity in his blood, a truth on his tongue, and a love so great and painful and passionate it threatens to eat him alive. Luckily, there are no gods here to witness this—witness the way Mark arches his hips, the wet sound Donghyuck makes when his fingers hit just right, the red-bitten look to Mark’s mouth, the heady press of Donghyuck’s mouth against his chest. The fire, burning brighter and hotter as the sun blazes through the gap in the top of the pyramid. 

And just when the closeness starts to become too much, the climax building in his stomach and behind his knees, there’s a flash of brilliant, white light. _The gut of the sun,_ he realizes hazily. 

Donghyuck breathes out, but Mark is moving, standing, drenched in sweat and blazing like a newly-birthed god. He’s got his pants on, his shirt on, and then he’s hurtling over the edge of the mirror and into the white light before Donghyuck can even call his name. 

“MARK!” he shouts, scrambling forward, panic blinding him, his hands burning on the hot ground. “No, no, no—” 

The light falters. There’s a great pulling feeling, and then the mirror _shatters,_ a thousand molten pieces of glass exploding outwards in a flash of heat. Donghyuck barely manages to cover his face before he’s being shredded and burned. And then he’s falling, falling, calling Mark’s name as he plunges into darkness. 

* * *

When he comes to, the pyramid is cool, and the mirror is gone. His wounds have already healed—but even if they hadn’t, Donghyuck Lee would still scramble to his feet and run to the boy on the ground. 

Mark Lee is in far worse shape than he is. Donghyuck falls to his knees beside him, a sob seizing in his chest. He no longer cares if he doesn’t have the right to feel sad about this boy; if he no longer gets to love this boy in a way that could fill a temple and shatter a mirror. 

“Wake up,” Donghyuck says, lifting him. There is a deep cut on his cheekbone, running horizontally under his eye, which is bruised. His chest has been cut open by the glass, his shirt red with blood, his chest moving shallowly. His hair and eyelashes have been bleached nearly-white by his run through the sun, his hands and arms burned, the skin blistering and red. 

Lying next to him, a couple of feet away is the sword. Like the other three symbols, it’s wrapped in an oilskin, and it gleams perfectly, not a scratch on it. 

Not like Mark, who is dying in his arms. 

“Wake _up,”_ Donghyuck tries again, his voice echoing strangely, and Mark’s eyelids flutter. His eyes are brown and familiar, and he reaches up to touch Donghyuck with one burned hand. 

“You’re glittering,” he says distantly. 

Donghyuck, tears burning in the corners of his eyes, scowls. “Why the _fuck_ did you do that? Why didn’t you let me?” 

Mark coughs, his lips wet with blood. “It’s the same choice. Me or you. And I could never—it couldn’t have been you.” 

“It was _my_ turn,” Donghyuck whispers. “My turn to be the sacrificial one. The _good_ one. Why do you always have to be the hero, Mark? Why do you always get to decide when to say goodbye?” 

A tear slides down his cheek, but he’s too busy trying to keep the life in Mark to wipe it away. 

“I’ve never seen you cry,” Mark replies. “I love you, you know that?” 

Donghyuck lets out a sob. “Stop saying that. I don’t deserve it.” 

“It was just a fight, Donghyuck. All couples fight, y’know?” Mark lets out a heavy sigh and closes his eyes again. “We would’ve figured it out.” 

Donghyuck can’t get the words to come. His throat is closing, and the love of his life is dying. 

Mark’s hand falls away from his face, and he coughs weakly again. Donghyuck slides a shaking hand behind the nape of his neck. 

“Take the sword back,” Mark says, his voice barely audible. “Okay?” 

“No!” Donghyuck yells, and the echo is back with twice the strength, cracking something in the walls. Dust rains down around them, and the pyramid groans. “Mark—” 

“Hyuck,” Mark answers. “I always liked how you said my name.” 

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck says, “I’m so sorry, don’t go—” 

“S’alright,” Mark says. Next to him, the sword of flame gleams. Around them, the pyramid continues to rumble, falling, crumbling to the ground. Grief wracks Donghyuck’s body, and the earth shudders with him. 

“It’s _not_ alright!” Donghyuck shouts. “I’m ready to forgive you, I’m ready to move on, I’m ready to do this, don’t you want to—don’t you want to come with me? Don’t you want to go back with me?” 

“Yes,” Mark murmurs. There is so much blood, and everything is falling down, cracking like Donghyuck’s heart. “I want to come with.” 

He breathes out, his shoulders relaxing like he’s falling asleep. 

And then he’s gone. 

* * *

The gods watch from afar as a single boy burns. 

For a minute, he sits as still as stone. They don’t understand the weight of his grief, because gods are very good at moving on. 

_All but one,_ Kei thinks, looking up at the sky. 

And then the sun temple starts to crumble, brought down by the sheer force of his anguish, his love, jealousy, and bitterness that had built and built until he’d stepped inside the pyramid. 

None of them know what happened in there, but when Donghyuck emerges into the late afternoon, carrying the boy he loves, they can guess. 

Mark Lee had chosen. And now it is Donghyuck’s turn. 

But first—first, the anger. He plants his feet and he shouts at them, berating, cruel words that lash at their heels. It chases away some of the younger gods, who flee back to cooler lands to forget what they’ve helped accomplish. 

Kei stays, and so does Jiwoo. There are no tears for her to weep here, but she wraps her arms around her chest and watches, the leftover part of her humanity reflecting the deep, biting sadness that consumes the boy below. 

Kei wishes they could do something. But no gods have touched this land since Asta scorched the life from it, as life has been scorched from Mark Lee. She had driven them all out. 

Except for one. 

One who has hidden a piece of herself a boy, whose divinity flows through his veins. Whose singular blue eye, bright with ancient fury and new grief, sparks with power. 

Donghyuck’s shouts turn to pleas, which turn to tears. The tears turn to silence, and day slowly shifts to night. Miho peeks out from behind Bowen, and Kei spins his moon a little fuller, casting the curious scene below in silvery light. 

Bringing a soul back from the underworld is an arduous process, especially with power as uncontrolled and tenuous as Donghyuck’s. 

Donghyuck, wracked with emotion as he is, doesn’t know what he’s doing. And Runa, far from him, cannot tell him. So they watch in somber silence as Donghyuck stacks stones from the ruined temple around Mark’s slowly-healing body until he’s covered. He puts a hand on the top and bows his head, his shoulders heaving. It is a long journey to find the sky goddess, but it is one he’s now prepared to make. She must be woken. The war must be won. 

Donghyuck lifts his head and turns east. He does not look back. 

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hate me i promise it's all for a reason it will all come together
> 
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